Dead Frontier/Issue 136
This is Issue #136 of Dead Frontier, titled Riot. This is the fourth issue in Volume 23. Issue 136 - Riot Adam's body ceases movement as he watches Duke twitch and writhe on the floor. The white tile is soon slippery with blood, and Adam rushes toward him, although their pursuit hasn't ended. "Adam!" he hears Daniel shout. The call is futile, as Adam ignores it completely. "Oh shit, man," Adam mutters. On his knees by Duke's side, the feeling of his jeans soaking with blood makes him want to gag. Paired with the ugly bullet wound in Duke's throat and the torpid, dejected quality his eyes have taken on, Adam knows Duke will be dead in a matter of seconds. But right now, he's still breathing. "All three of them, we're gonna get them out, alright?" Adam nods, but it's a gesture that Duke doesn't have enough energy to reciprocate. A bullet shatters the cement of the wall to Adam's left--his cue to continue his escape. A quick look up reveals not much space remains between him and those soldiers, so he speeds to his feet and slips around the nearby corner, out of view. Daniel waits for him there, eyes in a frenzy, and he pulls Adam by the sleeve to urge him along. "Elevator, elevator, elevator!" Daniel says in a harsh whisper. He smashes the button with his thumb repeatedly. It rises, the numbers on the display above increasing. But it's taking too long. The door slides open, and they hurry inside. Adam hits the 'Close Door' button rapidly. Their metal barrier slams shut just as a round of pounding footsteps are heard turning into the corridor. Adam presses his back against the wall, breathing heavily. He impatiently removes his bloodied stolen lab coat and tosses it to the ground in a wrinkled heap. He manages to hold in every vulgar remark he's ready to unleash, and he instead lets his rage boil in silence. He realizes the elevator is ascending. "There's still one floor we haven't been to yet," Daniel explains without Adam having to ask. If they're hoping to find Ivy, this is their last chance. ---- Jake and Lienne have since departed to her suite, where the mood is still sour but sufficiently less hostile. Lienne stares at the streets below, hands clenched around the windowsill. Struggling people are escorted out of their homes and forced into trucks. They all have the same gray-toned skin and exhausted expressions. She's just grateful she hasn't come down with whatever sickness is going around. She takes a glimpse at Jake sitting at the couch behind her. He's not showing any of the symptoms either, much to her delight. He's barely said a word to her; just a few curt responses here and there when she asks how he's been. His mind is clearly wandering elsewhere, his thoughts taking a turn for the absolute worst. He notices her looking and meets her gaze with some hesitance. He nearly forgot about those bandages on her arms, but seeing them again piques his interest further. "Hey," he calls as she's turning back to the window. A geniuine look of surprise flashes across her face at his beckoning. "Yeah?" She turns fully and props herself up on the windowsill. "What's with the...the b-bandages?" He pats the skin of his forearm. Lienne lifts her arm slightly and looks down at the sloppily-wrapped fabric. "I don't like the scars so...I cover 'em up." "Why can't you just wear l-long sleeve shirts?" She laughs shortly. "This just seems more...official. With a shirt I can just roll my sleeves up, but with this it's more like they're really gone. Like I can heal them, I guess." She pauses, her eyes flickering from his to a random spot across the room. "I know it's dumb and they're still gonna be there if I take these off but..." She shrugs, and the last of her response doesn't come. "B-but it helps, I'm guessing. Which is good," Jake says. Silence overtakes their conversation, and Jake clears his throat. "I thought about it a few times, honestly." At the end of his sentence, his voice falters, but the hitch is barely noticeable. "The b-bullying got really bad at one p-point, and I didn't know what else to do. But I never like, tied the noose o-or put a gun to my head or anything." As far as he knows, her life was normal, besides the fact that she was a foster kid. She seems relatively happy, too--he can't figure out how she'd reached a point so low that she actually wanted to end it. "Why'd you do it?" he asks. She releases a tired sigh and shifts her body uncomfortably. "Because I knew I wasn't the type of person that was meant to live this long," she says. "I told myself I didn't want to live this long. I chickened out--changed my mind--and here I am. Made it farther than I thought." She grabs a flimsy piece of the bandage and twirls it absently between her fingers. "Now I can feel myself going back to that same place and I really don't want to." Her eyes are growing moist, but she has enough self-control left to not cry. Especially not in front of him. "Sorry," he says. These really aren't his types of situations, and it's the only adequate response that comes to mind. She forces a sad smile and slides off the windowsill. "I'm gonna get myself together before this gets really bad," she says with a dry laugh. She wipes at her eyes hastily; without giving him another look, she slips into her bedroom. ---- As far as Lienne knows, three months have passed since the beginning of the outbreak. Her grimy face matches her tattered and ripped attire, which used to be a bold and colorful outfit she adored. Now she can’t wait until she finds a new set, finally able to toss this one. She walks down the street without a set goal in mind. The bag on her back weighs more than it has in weeks, and the knife at her side is in pristine condition due to her rare encounters with the infected so far. She prefers to evade them whenever she can. She passes by a store window covered with a thin layer of dirt. She nearly walks by without acknowledging it at all, until she realizes its familiarity. Her head turns up--the sign ‘Rey’s Muzak Shop’ brings a smile to her lips. It used to be her favorite spot, one of the few places she could find people who shared a music taste as eclectic as hers. But with her life on the line every second, she’s not surprised she almost forgot about it. A quick scan through the glass front door reveals that it isn’t barricaded, and most of the contents inside are intact. She opens the door and makes her way inside, the brief ringing of a bell indicating her entrance. An unconscious grin is plastered on her face as she roams around. She runs her fingers along the dusty records and CDs lining the crumbling shelves. The wave of nostalgia falling over her is wonderful--it’s something she hasn’t felt in so long. She lingers in the store for about ten minutes. The crashing of something hitting the ground catches her attention, and the CD in her hand falls to the tile. A knife takes its place quickly. The silence in the store returns. “If you’re a person, I don’t want to kill you,” Lienne says with forced assurity. There’s no responsive growl, so she at least knows she’s likely not in the presence of any infected. “Hello?” she says, taking a step toward the counter in front of her. She peeks over it, but finds nothing. “Look--” She feels something jab into her back and the heat of someone’s breath. Her own breathing halts, her body stiffening. Her eyes shift toward her bag that sits on the floor of a nearby shelf. It’s open, a few CDs stuffed inside of it. So much for dinner tonight. “Are you just gonna breathe on my neck or actually kill me? Or take my stuff--I don’t know,” Lienne says. “Can you drop the knife?” the person asks. It’s the voice of a man, but he sounds young. The knife clanks against the floor after Lienne releases her grip on the hilt. Her anxiety is rising visibly and, in a panic, she flings her elbow back and hits him hard in the stomach. He falls onto the ground, clutching his abdomen. Lienne retrieves her knife from below her, fully aware that she’s not going to use it. Still, she needs to look intimidating somehow. But he’s just a kid. Maybe 16 or 17--she can’t really tell. And he’s missing a hand. His face is slightly familiar as well, and it hits her quickly that he was a patron of the shop, too. She saw him around sometimes. Back then, he had all of his appendages. “H-hey,” he says, looking up at her. He tries to catch his breath, clearly in pain from her blow. “I--I know you. I know you.” He seems to recognize her, too. He clumsily rises to his feet and holds onto a nearby shelf to gain his balance. "I'm just gonna go,” Lienne says. Taking her eyes off him for just a second, she grabs her bag, zipping it up first, and puts one strap over her shoulder. He looks at her bag wistfully, but averts his gaze downward soon after. “Sorry. I just saw someone and…” He sighs deeply and scratches his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Lienne swallows hard. “How long have you been here?” “About an hour. I was looking for food but I saw this place and...couldn’t resist.” “I’ve seen you here before.” He nods. “You, too. A lot, actually.” He pauses. “I never caught your name.” She hesitates. “It’s Lienne.” “Alec.” He holds his hand out. For a few seconds, she looks at it. “Nice meeting you,” she says flatly. His arm drops to his side. Knife still in hand, she turns toward the door. “Wait--you’re just leaving?” he calls after her. She stops and turns. “Yeah.” She stares at him blankly. His stomach churns from his incessant hunger, and he can’t help but look at the bag again. She notices. “Listen. You’re pretty much a stranger--I know,” he begins. “And I don’t like begging but I told myself that the next time I’d got a chance, I’d take it. Because I’ve had enough shit happen to me and something needs to go right. I lost my fucking hand, I haven’t eaten in two days, I dunno where the hell my friends are and--I need a chance, okay?” He takes a breath and realizes he must sound absolutely pathetic. “If you leave, I’m done. I’ve tried keepin’ up with this ‘hope’ shit long enough...just a can or something, and you can leave knowing you helped some handicapped kid make it through the day.” She eyes him, managing to conceal her sympathy. “How old are you?” she asks. “Sixteen.” Her bag suddenly seems extremely burdening. She pulls it off, subdues a smirk once Alec’s face lights up, and unzips it. She takes a few steps forward and holds it right in front of him. “Take your pick.” ---- Lucy stands stiffly in front of the window, trying to keep her face as emotionless as possible--it’s difficult after her last exchange with Hunter. She honestly regrets hitting him, but with such a harsh mention of Cole, she’s not surprised she lashed out. Dean has decided to keep his distance, but after a long, uncomfortable silence he can longer bear, he stands from the kitchen and walks over to her. He shifts back and forth on his feet, crossing his arms. “My mom used to tell me violence was never the answer,” he begins, “unless the person you’re using it against is an asshole. So, good shot.” His forced attempt at some kind of lightheartedness has fallen flat based on her lack of response. No part of her expression or body language changes at all. He thinks back to what Hunter said. How she always chooses to defend him, even with the terrible shit he’s said to her and Cole in the past. “Guess it’s not really the time for jokes,” he says. “Probably not,” she agrees. “Fair enough. Sorry.” He opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself short. She doesn’t seem to notice his hesitancy, so he chooses not to bother her any further. He’s about to turn away, contemplating whether or not he should head back to his own apartment, when a bullet flies through the window, leaving a small hole in the glass. Lucy and Dean immediately plant themselves on the carpet. Although the bullets don’t stop, their apartment is fortunately spared from any more of the assault. They rise to sitting positions and press their backs against the wall directly under the window. “Not good,” Dean mutters. He stares at the bullet hole that now decorates the wall on the other side of the living room. Carefully, Dean turns until he’s on his knees and places his hands on the windowsill. He makes sure to keep his head below the glass. As quickly as possible he lifts his head just enough that he can see what’s going on below them. This isn’t just some tame protesting anymore. The residents of Wabash have gotten their hands on weapons, and they’re fighting back. ---- Tora’s vision is slightly blurry, but she’s grateful her lightheadedness has dissipated during her time in captivity. She forces herself to walk to keep herself awake, and slowly, she feels her strength returning, her exhaustion dwindling. But her condition is still nowhere near healthy. No one has come to check on her in a while. There’s been no sign of Daniel, Adam, or Duke either--the sight of those men chasing them brought an even sicker feeling to her stomach. Unable to keep herself upright any longer, she sits down on the bed and throws her face in her hands. There’s no pressure to cry, since confusion and anger have taken over all other emotions. She lifts her head at the sound of terrified screams. She rises with some difficulty and trudges over to the room’s single window. The order and seriousness that defined the building are now gone as people rush wildly down the corridors. Tora covers her mouth with her hand when a uniformed woman is shot right in the back, her body collapsing forward uselessly. The bulletproof glass protects her from the shots that would otherwise penetrate her room. Safe, but horrified, she can’t pull her eyes from the scene. She figures out quickly that those with the guns are residents of Denver, likely from the poorer sectors. They show no remorse, fingers pressed onto triggers. Anyone who doesn’t look like them--therefore, those dressed in uniforms, lab coats, or fancy clothes--is the target. A man, his face drenched with blood, rushes over to Tora’s door. He continuously looks over his shoulder. Tora guesses he works in the building based on his attire and the way he punches the numbers on the keypad with such confidence. There’s a low-pitched beep and the door opens. The man hurries inside and slams his body against the door. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he mutters, his voice filled with relief. He takes deep, gulping breaths. When he finally opens his eyes, he stares at Tora. “Everyone’s lost their fucking minds out there.” “What’s going on?” she asks. “You’re from Wabash, aren’t you? You know.” She looks completely perplexed, so he sighs. Before explaining, he searches through the room’s single shelf and finds a roll of paper towels. He wipes his bloody face until only a few specks of red remain. “They’ve stolen guns, they’ve completely lost their shit, and they’ve broken out of the sector. They’re killing anyone who isn’t on their side.” “Because they took a few sick people?” “It’s so much more than that. This has been building for...for longer than I can remember. I’m surprised it took so long.” Tora just looks at him upon realizing the danger Adam, Duke, and Daniel could be in, not to mention everyone still at in the sector. “I need to leave,” she says. She takes a few wobbly steps toward him, stops, and grabs her aching head. “I have people I need to--” The man laughs. It’s an eerie cackle that makes Tora look at him weirdly. “You’re not opening that door.” “I need to go.” “Open that door and they get in here. No.” She knows he’s right, but she doesn’t care--she’s going to risk it anyway. She proceeds to the door but the man stops her with a firm hand to the shoulder. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. It’s easy to see through his bullshit. He couldn’t care less about her well being. “Don’t open that door.” She hesitates, then takes a step away. He looks relieved and gives her an assuring nod. She returns to her seat on the bed, but he stays standing with his hands on top of his head. “Not sure you’d make it far anyway,” he says. Foolishly, he turns away, instead facing the window. He shakes his head at the carnage. “Fucking animals…” he mutters. A few more contemptuous remarks spew from his mouth, but Tora pays no mind. As silently as possible, she stands from the bed and walks over to the shelf. There are no clear weapons--but there is a small metal container, its appearance slightly resembling a toolbox. She lifts it into her hands. It’s enough to do some damage. Hopefully enough to knock him out. She tries to sneak behind him, but he ends his tirade earlier than she’d hoped. His eyes widen at her aggressive stance, and then the metal box in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, and before he can say another word, the box connects with his temple. He hits the ground, mumbles something from his place on the cold floor, and his body goes limp. She drops the container to the ground, the contents spilling out. She hurries over to the door and opens it, and she’s met with loud shouts and cries, intermixed with sparse amounts gunshots. She easily blends in with the rioters, although her goal is entirely different. ---- Adam and Daniel can hear the ruckus from the floor below. They’ve managed to evade those soldiers for now, but it’s only a matter of time before another batch is in pursuit. This floor has less rooms than the other, making their job of searching for Ivy much easier. People here have begun to panic as news of the terror downstairs reaches their ears. It seems like they’re going in circles until they reach a corridor that looks a bit unfamiliar. This is a dead end instead of reaching another hall. A final room marks the end of it, and through the window they see the curly-haired figured of a young girl sitting on the bed, swinging her legs over the edge. And planted in a chair next to her is Natesh. His mouth moves, but Adam and Daniel can’t make out what he says. “What do we do about him?” Daniel asks. Adam thinks for a moment. “He’s not gonna let us in,” Adam says. They don’t have enough time to wait for Natesh to leave and punch in the code; something needs to be done now, and the only thing Adam can think of is to confront him directly. “Come on.” They jog towards the room, and a grin forms on Ivy’s face as she sees them approach. Natesh notices her drastic change in expression. He turns and scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. He stands and pushes his chair to the side. “Wow,” Natesh says. His voice is somewhat muffled through the window. “You people actually came for her.” “We don’t wanna hurt you, man,” Adam says. “Just let her out and we’ll go.” “You’ve kinda got a bigger problem anyway,” Daniel points out, to which Natesh only returns a perplexed expression. “The fuckin’ people here are going crazy.” Just then, a walkie talkie attached to Natesh’s belt spews a burst of static, and frantic, unintelligible voices arise from it. Natesh’s face falls. They’re telling the truth. “Give us the girl and we’re out,” Adam says. Natesh purses his lips and looks back at Ivy. There are so many more questions he wants to ask, so much more he could learn about this new virus from her. But in this state of frenzy, is it really worth it? He’s gotten so much already… Natesh walks to the door and pushes it open. “Before I let you in,” he says, his palm held up to stop them from entering, “listen to me. I want you to people to leave this place. Get out--don’t ever think about coming back. It’s not safe here, and it’s never been.” There’s a quick pause. “Please.” His sincerity is hard to overlook, but Adam and Daniel don’t have time to ask questions. Natesh moves out of their way to allow them entry--Ivy is nearly out the door already, though, and she grabs onto Adam’s arm. Immediately, Natesh closes the door to the room. He watches from the window and lowers his head as the three rush down the corridor. ---- Tora recalls that Farrah wasn’t taken that far away from her own room. She’s pushed forward amongst the crowd of angry rioters, but she makes sure to look into every window for any sign of Farrah. It doesn’t take long--Farrah watches, wide-eyed, with her palms pressed against the glass. “Oh, my God,” Farrah says quietly when she sees Tora, more astonished than anything. Just like her own, Tora’s condition has worsened. Bags have formed under Farrah’s eyes and she feels extremely light-headed, barely able to stand, but she’s so fascinated by the chaos that’s unfolding. Farrah’s hefty brace slows her down, but she slides over to the door and opens it just a little. Farrah peeks her head out. “Come on, let’s go,” Tora urges. Farrah looks at her as if she’s insane. “I won’t make it; are you crazy?” Farrah says. “I don’t wanna leave you here by yourself; and I need to find Adam, Daniel, and Duke.” “They’re here?” “They found out we were here and came to get us.” Still, she notices Farrah’s hesitation. Someone suddenly runs into her, mutters a quick apology, and continues on. “I’ll come back for you, okay? Stay put--keep the door closed.” Farrah nods and complies, shutting the door quickly and leaving Tora in this reckless corridor, with no form of protection. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues Category:Walkerbait22's Stories